More Than Good Enough
by unshakespearean
Summary: First Hetalia piece! GerIta fluff! Italy has a dumb idea. Germany snaps. And then regrets it. Cuteness ensues. Cowritten with my friend Emma aka emmabirdy. T for language.


**More Than Good Enough**

_Japan's POV_

"Alright, everyone, we have got to be getting down to business here." Germany claps his hands and Italy and I both glance up at him.

"Oh, Germany! I've got a really good idea, ve." Italy waves his hand around frantically.

Germany closes his eyes and sighs. "Go ahead, Italy."

"Well, I think we should defend ourselves with a giant robot! Like America is always talking about when we have meetings. Then it'll be super duper surprising!" Italy continues, ignoring Germany's somewhat pained expression, "We can even store pasta in its hands! See, look, I painted a picture!" Italy fumbles around and pulls out a pencil sketch, which I have to admit is very well drawn, while a little - ahem - useless. "So that's my idea! What do you think, Germany?"

"Really. _That's_ your idea?" Germany looks down at Italy with his classic "you have GOT to be kidding me" face. _Here we go,_ I think. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Ummm… what? Oh, is this a guessing game? I love games!" Oh, poor Italy. He still doesn't know the significance of _that_ particular face.

"NO, THIS IS NOT A GAME! I THINK THAT YOU'RE AN IDIOT AND YOUR IDEAS ARE STUPID! WHAT KIND OF SIGNIFICANT PROGRESS CAN WE MAKE WITH IDEAS LIKE THAT?!"

"None whatsoever," I mutter under my breath. These two need to get their shit together. Like, really. Oh, wait, did you think I was talking about the impending strike from America and his band of douchebags? Forget _them_. The Allies or whatever the hell they're called are most definitely _not _my biggest concern. We can take them any day. I could on my own, probably, but I won't brag. My biggest concern is the fact that these each of these two dumbasses are absolutely oblivious to the blatantly obvious fact that the other is in fact infatuated with them.

"Germany-san, please calm down," I say softly. "There's no need to go off-" But I'm cut off by his continuing to shout profanities and insults. I blink and then suddenly Italy's gotten up and is now running for the woods at top speed, his sobs loud enough to reach America.

_Oh, dear God. What's this going to mean for them?_

I'm not sure I even want to know.

* * *

><p><em>Italy's POV<em>

I run as fast as I can through the woods, crashing into stuff along the way but I really couldn't care less at the moment, caring more about the fact that the words "WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT" are ringing through my head.

Worthless piece of shit. Me. Worthless piece of shit. Me.

And he's right. Of course he's right. He's always right. I'm an idiot. And worthless. And a piece of shit. And all the other things he'd said. And I'll never, ever, ever be good enough for him.

That's all I want. I just want to be good enough for him. And now I know I'm not even a little tiny bit close. I'm nowhere close to close. And there's nothing I can do. Nothing.

I trip over a root and land on my face. "Owwwww…" I roll over. Everything looks like it's spinning, spinning, spinning… it looks like so much fun, like a carnival ride, and now I'm starting to feel sick and _is that blood oh my god it's blood_. I must be dying. I have to be dying. What else could it be? It's dying. Definitely dying.

"I'm dying…" I say to nobody in particular. Maybe it's better that way. I won't have to think about being good enough for Germany ever again.

"Bye-bye, Germany," I whisper, and then everything goes black.

* * *

><p><em>Germany's POV<em>

_What the hell have I done? _I ask myself as I tear through the woods after Italy. Why did I yell at him like that? His idea may have been stupid, okay, it was _definitely_ stupid, but why did I have to yell? None of it was even true, what I'd said. None of it. I didn't mean a word of it. I don't know why I said it. And now I know he's somewhere in the woods crying, and it's all my fault.

"Italy, please come back," I call out, but there's no response. I can't even hear crying. _Is he that far away? _I wonder.

And then there he is, on the ground, eyes closed, bleeding in a couple of places. Not profusely, but enough to be a problem. Must've tripped over a root and hit his head. _Just like him_, I think. Klutzy, crazy, just a little bit stupid. And absolutely not worthless.

He makes a tiny little moaning sound and then his eyes open. "Oh… hello, Germany… wait, what?!" Cue the classic Italy overexcited babbling. As usual, I have exactly _no_ idea what he's going on about.

I decide to follow the normal babbling procedure - that is, ignore the babbling - and just get him back to the beach before he bleeds to death. "Come on, stand up." I try to help him up, but as soon as he's standing on both his feet, he moans in pain and his face clenches into a tortured expression that I swear feels like a stab in the chest. Without even really thinking about what I'm doing, I let him collapse into my arms and scoop him up, running as fast as I possibly can, his babbling now turned into a combination of screaming and sobbing. Clearly the pain is excruciating, and it's all my fault.

"JAPAN!" I shout the minute we get to the beach. I barely blink before he's by my side. Thank God for reliable friends.

As soon as Japan sees Italy, his eyes widen. "Oh my God," he gasps. "What happened?"

"I'm going to guess tripped over a root," I reply.

"You were carrying him," Japan says rather matter-of-factly as I lay him down in the sand.

"Yeah… Is there a problem with that?"

"Not at all, sir." He grins. "I'd say that he maybe has a sprained ankle or something."

"That would explain the pain when I tried to stand him up," I muse.

"I'll wrap it up." He goes and gets his medical kit. I'm reminded of exactly how lucky we are to have him on our side.

Italy's still wailing in pain. I intertwine our fingers, running my thumb up and down his. "Shhhhh," I say softly, trying to calm him down. "Shhhhh, you're going to be alright…"

"You're holding his hand," Japan says in that same sort of matter-of-fact tone.

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Not at all, sir." Once again he gives that sort of grin.

I look down to notice that Italy's stopped moaning and is now looking up at me with some sort of mix of confusion and wonder. "You came looking for me! Am I not a worthless piece of shit anymore?" he asks in that little excited voice that I can't help but love.

"Oh, Italy," I murmur, carefully lifting him so he's sitting next to me. I wrap my arms tightly around him, one of my hands pulling his head against my chest and playing with his hair. Oh dear God, do I _love_ that hair. "You were _never _a worthless piece of shit." He starts crying again, sobbing into my shirt, but this time it's not about the pain in his ankle. It's about me, and what I said to him, what I never should have said to him.

"It's true, though," he whispers. "I'm an idiot and I'm not good enough for you and I should-" He starts babbling again, or maybe it's more like blubbering, but this time, I cut him off.

"You're _more _than good enough for me," I say firmly.

"I am?" He looks up at me again, and the expression on his face is enough to turn me into a puddle. It's sad and confused and pained and _hopeful, desperately_ hopeful.

"Italy, you're _perfect_." And then I'm kissing him, softly and gently at first, but then I can't help but let it become more passionate. He's confused at first, but then he relaxes, not really kissing back but clearly content with what's going on.

I pull away to see that he's still crying. "Why did you do that?" he asks. He buries his head in his hand, his face flushing.

"Isn't it obvious?" I tilt his head up so we're looking at each other. "I love you. I love everything about you. I love your laugh and your smile and how you always manage to get _me _to laugh and smile, I love that you make everything fun, and I love watching you run around and be goofy. And I love, love, _love _your obsession with pasta."

"You do?" Again with that face, but this time it's even more hopeful.

"I may later _really_ regret saying this, but I think it's the best thing about you." I grin, hoping that he'll grin back. "Italy, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

"And you know how much he wants the world," Japan pipes up. I roll my eyes.

Italy looks up at me with the biggest, brightest smile I have ever seen. "I love you too!" he exclaims, and he throws his arms around my neck. And now I'm starting to feel tears falling. I've wanted this for so, so long. My Italy.

He lets go of me and rests his head against my chest, yawning. "I'm tired," he says in that just _slightly_ whiny voice - it used to annoy the hell out of me, but now is just one of the hundred million things I adore about him - and with that he falls asleep, as usual showing off his incredible talent for zonking out.

I scoop him up again and carry him back to our hammocks. I'm about to lay him down in his own when I have a better idea. "I hope you don't mind sharing," I whisper, and I settle myself in my hammock with Italy snuggled up next to me, his head still resting on my chest.

* * *

><p><em>Three hours later... <em>

"Germany?" Italy looks up at me with the most innocently adorable face I've ever seen. It's far cuter than anything I've ever seen before in my life. "Why am I in _your_ hammock?"

"Because I don't ever want to let you go," I reply in a whisper. I kiss his hair softly, and he sighs in pleasure. "I'm so sorry I said all of those awful things to you, Italy…"

"It's okay," he says, looking up at me. "I know you didn't mean it." He wraps his arms tightly around my waist. "I love you, Germany."

"I love you too, Italy." I kiss his hair again, letting my lips linger there as I whisper, "Oh, Italy, I love you so much." An idea comes to me. "Let's play a guessing game. What're we going to do tomorrow?"

"Ummmm…" He thinks for a few minutes. "I give up."

"We're going to build a giant robot, like America's always talking about in meetings… it'll be super duper surprising."

"Really?" Italy's jaw drops. "I thought it was a stupid idea."

"Oh, it definitely is," I chuckle. "One of your stupidest. But I say it's worth a try. After all… it _is_ going to have pasta in its hands."

"We're even going to do the pasta part?" His eyes are the size of the moon, and just as bright, too.

"It wouldn't be the same without it. Now get some sleep. Pastabot construction begins bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Yay!" We're quiet for a few moments, and I think he's fallen asleep when I hear him again. "Germany?"

"Yes?" My lips move gently to his forehead, not for any particular reason, just because I feel like it.

"My leg still really hurts."

"I know, my love." My heart skips a beat as I say it. "It'll get better, I promise. We'll take care of you. _I'll _take care of you." I stroke his hair and he giggles contentedly, dozing off again. I stare up at the stars and smile too.

_We'll be alright_, I think, and I close my eyes and dream of a time when the war is over and it's just Italy and me, and we can lie like this every night and watch the stars and not worry about anything but what we'll do the next day. That'd be nice. Really nice. I just hope that that day comes soon.

* * *

><p><em>The next morning - Japan's POV<em>

I walk over to the other hammocks and see that Italy and Germany are still snuggled together in Germany's hammock. I can't help but do a silent happy dance at this. Finally they're together. I'm trying to mentally map which doujinshi this confession is closest to. Not quite sure yet… I'll figure it out eventually.

I debate going over to get my camera from my bag. America would get a kick out of this… It would make up for the fact that I kinda bombed a part of his (way too big if you ask me) space Okay, maybe it wouldn't; that was a pretty douchey move. Germany made me do it. But Hungary would like the photos too. Germany and Italy, on the other hand, would probably kill me. Well, Germany would. Italy might not. He'd probably laugh. And then say something about pasta. And then Germany would laugh too and probably kiss him or something…

Oh, screw it all. I get the camera and take a picture. And text it to...hmm, only five people. Hopefully Italy and Germany won't notice anytime soon.

I'm dead.

Totally worth it.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey everyone! Here's my first ever HETALIA piece! I've become obsessed!<strong>

**Extra special super duper thanks to my co-writer, EMMA, aka emmabirdy! Couldn't have done it without you!**

**Don't forget to take the CRIMINAL MINDS CHALLENGE! Deets in my profile!**

**As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, thanks to Eleonora, Noe, Hanul, and Kizzie, and cookies for all.**

**Love,**

**Ofelia xxx**


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